The Liverpool Basque by Helen Forrester

Author:Helen Forrester [Helen Forrester]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780007392162
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2013-04-21T01:23:20+00:00

Chapter Twenty-four

In 1916, when, at the age of eight, Manuel entered St Francis Xavier School, he felt very lonely; Joey and Brian showed no signs of being able to follow him. On his first day he feared that he might be the only Basque boy attending because he was the only one in his class. He soon discovered that there was a sprinkling of them in the upper classes, though they were drawn from all over the city. They ignored him because they did not know that he was a Basque – he was just another new pupil, younger than they were.

Occasionally he heard them speaking to each other in Basque, frequently making derogatory remarks about English boys who had been too rough with them, because they were slightly sallower in complexion than British boys.

Real fights were rare in the school yard, but one day proud Manuel was called a dago by a nine-year-old Scot. Furious, Manuel struck out with all his force at the scornful, freckled red face of the bigger lad. He became immediately embroiled in a fight with a known bully that he could not win. The other boys formed a circle to egg on the Scot. With his nose already bleeding, it was clear to anyone passing that, despite his best efforts, Manuel was getting the worst of the encounter.

Held down on the asphalt playground, Manuel took a punch in the eye which made him cry out.

His cry was followed by a sharp yelp from his antagonist, who received a quick series of kicks in his ribs from a tall, thin youth standing over the pair of them.

The newcomer scowled at the ring of boys. Then he bent down, got a good grip on the back of the braces of the enraged Scot and hauled him off Manuel. He shook the boy, as he hissed into his badly scratched face, ‘Pick on someone of your own size, you little twerp!’ He shoved the boy away into the crowd.

Lying on the asphalt, trying to get his breath, a surprised Manuel viewed his rescuer through his unhurt eye. He was even more surprised when the boy said curtly in Basque, ‘Get up.’

The back of Manuel’s head was throbbing badly where he had hit it when falling backwards. His nose was still dripping and his eye seemed to be swelling. He staggered slowly to his feet, while his rescuer snarled at the retreating boys, ‘Get going you stinking pack of cowards, before I tell on you.’ They reluctantly dispersed, taking the young Scot with them, muttering to each other as they went.

The Basque boy was several inches taller than Manuel, blond, blue-eyed and pallid-skinned. He looked Manuel up and down, and said again in Basque, ‘Gosh, you do look a mess. Better get cleaned up before a teacher sees you.’ He picked up a blazer lying on the ground. ‘Is this yours?’

Manuel nodded dumbly, as he steadied himself on his feet. He felt his nose running and wiped it along his shirt sleeve.

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